


Promise

by Seize_The_Gay (orphan_account)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, M/M, Minor Violence, This is kinda trash, also i can't write angst without giving it a happy ending so, my boys deserve to be happy, who am I kidding? This is totally trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 13:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15664155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Seize_The_Gay
Summary: Spot Conlon was the fearless leader of Brooklyn. Every single newsie in New York knew that. He was tough as nails, he stood by his boys, no one questioned him, and he never ran from anything. But a fact about Spot Conlon that was not as well known, was that if anything could scare him, anything at all, it was Racetrack Higgins. The tall Manhattan newsie with the steel blue eyes had him wrapped around his finger, and only three individuals in the entire world knew that, those two individuals being Spot and Race. Of course others suspected something was going on, but no one questioned it. Then the strike had come along.





	Promise

Spot Conlon was the fearless leader of Brooklyn. Every single newsie in New York knew that. He was tough as nails, he stood by his boys, no one questioned him, and he never ran from anything. But a fact about Spot Conlon that was not as well known, was that if anything could scare him, anything at all, it was Racetrack Higgins. The tall Manhattan newsie with the steel blue eyes had him wrapped around his finger, and only three individuals in the entire world knew that, those two individuals being Spot and Race. Of course others suspected something was going on, but no one questioned it. Then the strike had come along.

“Whaddya mean the bulls showed up?!” Spot had sent Blue and Freckles down to Manhattan to keep an eye on things, make sure nothing went too wrong. Now, however, he’d received the exact news he hadn’t wanted to hear. He turned to Blue, glaring at the younger boy. “I want the whole story, now.” Blue had his cap in his hands, nervously wringing it, obviously dreading the news he would have to tell Spot. “Boss, there was nothing we could do! Snyder and the bulls showed up, and we tried to help them out, but we had to get outta there, else Snyder woulda grabbed us, too! They grabbed Crutchie, too. And a lot of ‘em are hurt, boss. Some of ‘em look real bad. And.. and..” Blue’s eyes had become fixated on the floor.

Freckles placed a reassuring hand on Blue’s arm, urging him to continue. Blue just looked at the taller boy, shaking his head. Spot registered that Blue was trembling. Turning to Freckles, he saw the desperation beginning to form in his eyes. “What are you two tryin’ to say?” His voice became softer, trying to coax his boys into speaking. Blue’s eyes began to fill with tears. The young boy threw himself into Freckles’ arms, not wanting to face Spot. “It’s- it’s Racetrack.” Freckles whispered, running his fingers soothingly through Blue’s coffee colored hair. “They haven’t been able to find him, Spot. Everyone saw him take a blow to the head, but no one saw where he went after that. They searched for hours, but he’s.. He’s gone, Spot.”

Spot Conlon was the fearless leader of Brooklyn. He’d never run from anything in his life. He made sure all of his boys were taken care of, always putting them before himself. Spot Conlon didn’t cry, because “There was always someone else who needed it more”. He stood by his boys no matter what. But that night in a Brooklyn Lodging house, when things seemed too cold for Summer, Spot Conlon broke one of his rules in life: He ran out through the door of the lodging house and into the dark night, letting the street lamps light his way to Race.

Spot had no idea where he was running or how long it would take him to get to his mythical location, but he knew he had to find Race. There was a chance he was still out there, scared and bleeding somewhere. Making his way towards the Brooklyn Bridge, he lost his way in his thoughts. Blow to the head. No one’s seen him. They searched for hours. He’s gone. Spot felt his breath become short, shoulders shaking with the panic and adrenaline threatening to break over him at any second. That was when he saw a small piece of fabric discarded on the concrete sidewalk. Slowing his pace, he came up to the cloth he had seen. He’d know that damn thing anywhere. Picking it up, he smelled the old cigar smoke and ink still ingrained in Race’s cap.

With a start, he saw that there was another substance staining the hat in his hands; A dark red substance that seemed to have soaked it’s way into the hat. Spot became more desperate, his eyes darting across the different alleyways and doorsteps lining the street. Race was here. Calling out his name, Spot began searching through the small street and winding alleys. It wasn’t until ten minutes had passed that Spot heard the one noise he had been dreading and hoping for at the same time: A small whimper resonated from deeper into the small backstreet. “Race?! Race, is that you?” No sound or movement greeted his voice.

Thunder growled in the sky, signalling the beginning of a storm. Small droplets of water began falling, quickly turning into a downpour. Spot walked deeper into the darkened passage, searching frantically for the other boy. Every now and then, a small patch of blood would stain the ground or wall, and Spot prayed all of this looked worse because of the rain. A small noise coming from his left side shook him out of his thoughts. There, on the wet cobblestones, was Race, shaking and unconscious.

“Race! Race, oh my God!” Spot flung himself to the ground, immediately cradling the boy and taking his head off the ground and placing it onto his shoulder. “Race, c’mon, wake up! Racer, please. Please be okay. Race, wake up! Tony!” Race looked awful. The beginnings of a dark purple bruise were blooming on his cheek, there was a large gash on the right side of his face, and from the way he was protecting his ribs earlier, his chest was heavily injured. Race’s lips were blue, body shaking in the rain. Spot slowly picked Race up a bit, shuffling them underneath one of the eaves of the building next to them, keeping them dry. “Race, Tony please, please wake up.” Spot’s voice broke, unable to get the words out. He buried his face into Race’s neck, feeling his own tears blend with the rainwater there.

Pulling back a bit, Spot looked at Race’s, the boy he loved more than anything in this damn world. Race’s eyelids twitched a bit, his body shivering and limp. “Tony, please..” Spot looked at the alley surrounding them, thinking about where he could take the boy. Flinching a bit, Spot realized why he’d recognized this place earlier: It was where he’d kissed Race for the first time. Of course, Spot remembered that day very well. It had been after a card game, the events of the night dragging on until well past nightfall. Jack and some of the other Manhattan newsies had cleared out hours ago, but Spot and Race had sat there, talking about nothing and everything. Spot couldn’t place why he felt such a strong pull towards the energetic blond newsie, but the next thing he knew, he was dragging Race into the nearest alleyway and pushed him up against the wall. Race had actually looked terrified in that moment, his hands pressing into the brick behind his back.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

 

“No.”

“Then why are we’s in a dark backstreet afta midnight?”

“Cause a’ this.”

 

Spot had surged forward at that moment, capturing the taller boy’s lips in a kiss. Race froze, not sure exactly what was going on. Sensing Race’s confusion, Spot nervously pulled away, preparing to apologize. But within the next instant, Race had grabbed Spot by the shoulders and reconnected their lips. The two boys had been together ever since, meeting up at night or whenever they had the time. Spot didn’t know when exactly he’d fallen for Race, but he knew that it had happened faster than he had wanted it to.

Pulling himself from the memory, Spot put two and two together; Race had been trying to get to him. The strike had gone wrong, he was hurt, and he’d tried to make it to Spot. He just cried harder at this fact, thinking of the regrets he had at that moment. Why hadn’t he gone to help Manhattan? Why hadn’t he been there to protect Race? Race, Race, Race, Race, Race…

Race’s eyelashes fluttered a bit, eyes slowly opening. Spot sucked in a breath. He’d been terrified that he’d never see those eyes again, forever trying to chase a fleeting memory. “Spottie?” Race stuttered out. “Spottie, you’re here?” Spot laughed breathlessly, a sob also escaping his mouth. “I’m here, Tony. I’m here and I ain’t eva leavin’ you again.” Spot’s voice was thick with emotion, barely letting him speak. Race smiled softly, looking up at the other boy. “I love you, Sean.” Spot’s shoulders shook as he cried harder. Pressing a kiss to Race’s forehead, he breathed “I ain’t lettin’ you get hurt anymore. I love you so much, Tony.”

Spot took Race back to the Brooklyn lodging house that night, making sure he was patched up. Race had insisted on going back to Manhattan the next day, which Spot had tried to deter him from, but Race was adamant. And a few days later when the newsies had won the strike, no one really noticed or cared when Spot swept Race into his arms and kissed him like life depended on it. He’d made a promise, and he was damn sure he was going to keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of trash, but I thought I'd post it anyway. Thank you for reading, comments are always welcome! Please tell me what you thought! Come yell at me on Tumblr @Soldmysoultofandomshelp


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